


Fox Twins

by ShadowThief78



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Don't Post To Another Site, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Female Reader, Feudal Japan, Foxes, Kitsune, Shinto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-03-05 22:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18837940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowThief78/pseuds/ShadowThief78
Summary: The blessing of Inari is not for the ordinary.#"Foolish, impudent child.” His eyes are disdainful and condescending. “The gods were not indifferent to your plight. They had never forgotten you.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaientai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaientai/gifts).



1

The village is very superstitious. That's why, when twin boys appear at the edge of the forest, no one will take them in except the recent young widow. Her neighbors insist she take them to the shrine to have their fortunes read, so she goes.

The old priestess' eyes turn bright as she examines them. "Heathy, I see," She says. "Hm. . ."

The widow asks if anything is wrong. "No," comes the reply, "nothing wrong."

She asks the date they were found, consults a star chart, and "Hm"s a bit more. "They are special children," She says at last. "Not like others. Special."

The widow inquires more. "How do you know? Are they cursed?"

The preistess laughs, wisps of white hair coming loose from its braid. "No, not at all! Not cursed, but blessed. By the fox god, Inari." Her eyes twinkle mischievously. "Be sure to give them plenty of inari-zushi."

But when the widow asks what she means, the priestess refuses to say any more. When they're leaving, the chubby daughter of one of the younger priestesses offers them mochi, her face smeared with sticky-sweet red bean paste. "Bye-bye!" She bubbles.

And they are not like other children, just like what was said. The widow's neighbors are still suspicious, but tolerate the boys' presence. Still, there are a few strange happenings.

Like the time when the rice fields were partially trampled just after the crop was planted. The village was angry at whoever did it, and all visit the shrine to see what to do. "Don't worry," comes the reply. "It was a god. Make sure to be extra generous with offerings this month, and it'll all be fine." Some grumble about how the workers at the shrine probably did it, but nobody can deny that the footprints were most definitely not a human's.

Or how the young woman often finds hens and rabbits on her doorstep, just when food is running out. She doesn't know where they come from, but the boys are growing rapidly and they need the food.

All the villagers are distrustful of the boys with brilliant metallic eyes, footsteps as soft as freshly falling snow, and the ability to never get lost in the woods. Even the other children shun them, even more so than the tengu-like child with fiery red hair and eyes.

The priestess' daughter is growing up too. She has started to help around the shrine, sweeping the steps and scattering salt every morning. She welcomes the twins with open arms, they seem to have an understanding that runs deeper than blood.

It's not unusual that the twins complain of ailments to get out of the lessons they sometimes have, so when Osamu complains that his head hurts and is itchy, their adopted mother isn't too concerned. They're healthy, and have never actually gotten ill. When she calls for them to wake up the next morning, the last thing she expects is to feel two fuzzy bumps on his head. Atsumu has the same thing the next week, two bumps the same color of his hair. She keeps them inside until they grow into ears, fox's ears.

They rush to the shrine under cover of dusk, the boys wearing worn straw hats that were hiding in a corner. The widow knows the neighbors will banish them if they find out, her only hope is the priestess.

The boys wait outside while she finds the old woman who read the boy's fortunes when they were but infants. She pleads for help, for anything.

"Special," the old woman says, her eyes milky but still alive. "Let me see?"

They hobble outside, to where the boys are playing a sort of game with the daughter of the priestess. Now, the young mother knows she's the old woman's granddaughter. She calls her sons over.

"Blessed," The old woman repeats, gently rubbing one of Atsumu's ears between her delicate fingers. "I knew it."

"Grandmother!" Cries her successor. Before anyone can ract, she's shoving Osamu aside, reaching out for the collapsing body. Osamu is beside her, grabbing for the old woman's frame. Atsumu pulls his mother out of the way.

"What happened?" She gasps, looking at her son and the girl, bent over the body.

The girl folds her young hands over the paper-thin skin of the bony ones. The old, old priestess smiles faintly. "I'm sorry," She says quietly. "You're not old enough yet. This is my fault."

"No!" The girl scrubs her eyes. "No, grandmother, nothing's your fault."

"There they are!" An angry shout comes. "They killed her! Priestess, are you alright?"

The old woman's breath rattles in her throat. "Run."

Atsumu lets go of his mother, grabs the female's hand. "We need 'ta leave," he says, more serious than anything his mother has ever seen. Osamu nods his agreement. The furious mob of villagers is approaching, quickly. They haul the heir to the shrine away, running rapidly toward the forest despite their flapping straw sandals. The wailing is more painful than anything the twins' mother has ever heard.

The villagers catch up to her, too fast and too loud. They want to know what happened. She stammers, she doesn't know. One of them loudly shouts, pointing to the fading dusk. The boys' hats have fallen off, and everyone can see their ears. Some of the men go off, to chase them away for good, despite the weak protests of their mother. Her friends comfort her, nothing was her fault, she was bewitched. One of them offers to let her stay at their house.

The forest is familiar. The twins have been exploring it since they could walk, and make no sound. They run for hours. The girl between them is grieving, but Atsumu claps a hand over her mouth - quiet, else they'll be found.

They spend the first night curled up at the base of a large tree. When morning comes, they find they're at the base of an abandoned shrine, the stone steps covered in moss and twigs. Out of curiosity, they follow the overgrown trail until they pass the red torii gate, soft with rot and paint flaking off. None of them have any money, but a small coin lies on top of the greenery covering one of the stone statues.

They let the girl toss it in, ring the bell, and pray. It sounds hollow and abandoned in the woods. Here, even the birds don't sing. The claps echo off the stone, lost in the folds of the forest.

It makes her sad, how the shrine was abandoned like this. There's no sign of any village nearby, just a school of minnows in a tiny pool fed by a trickle of a waterfall. It's undeniably beautiful here, but still rather humid for spring. They don't go inside, the floors aren't safe to walk on.

They don't have any food. The girl digs a scrap of paper from her sleeve, lighting a fire with a chant she was taught, the boys leave and return with a hare. The tiny flames make cooking the meat slow, but they can't risk getting found.

The girl insists they leave an offering, just in case, so the brothers toss some of the food onto the altar and pray quickly, not trusting the floor. It comes as a shock when a white fox turns up, snatches the meat, and speaks.

"You three are the first to come here in a long time," it says. "I thank you. I was getting hungry."

It tells them its name is Shinsuke Kita, and explains that the shine had become abandoned when the village nearby was wiped out by a mudslide. "It was a long time in the past," he says. "Perhaps a hundred of your years ago?"

He turns to leave. And maybe it's something about him, the way he twitches his tail, the way he just barely looks over his shoulder, the graceful curves of his body, the slight, sly smile he has on, but when he tells them, they follow.

"Catch me if you can."


	2. Chapter 2

2

The hill is steep and rocky, scraggly patches of grass holding pebbles together. Dirt and sand slide down wherever their feet step. The three half-slide, half-stumble down the slope, scattering sand everywhere. Kita bounds down gracefully, quickly disappearing into the trees.

“We’re losin’ him!” Atsumu grabs his brother and his friend and jumps down, tumbling to the trees. They scramble up, plunging into a tunnel of greenery.

“Go faster!” He barks.

“I can’t!” 

Atsumu groans, then grabs the girl by the waist and tosses her over her shoulder. “Where’s he gone?”

They stop on the banks of a stream dotted with mossy green rocks. Osamu peers in the water. Atsumu takes a moment to set his living burden down and stretch. The birdsong has returned, and sunlight falls more freely through the leaves, but it’s still oddly quiet and stifling. 

“There’s something there.”  The almost-priestess, still slightly miffed about being lugged like a sack of rice, points.

The brush is thicker that way, and after much sweaty crashing through branches they emerge to a valley split by a meandering river. It’s cut up into patches of green rice seedlings and other crops. A few dots of people are in the fields or around the village, a lone house - bigger than the rest - stands directly across from them.

“You made it,” the fox says from on top of a nearby boulder. Now in the sun, he’s not white but rather a very light gray with black ear and tail-tips. He seems mildly surprised.

“Where is this?” Osamu asks him.

The fox stands up and jumps down. “Have you heard of Shogun Tarou Oomi?” He says. “This is his territory.”

They do, of course. Everyone knows that shogun. He’s famous for his territory - unfindable by outsiders. It’s said to never storm, rain only when it’s needed, with no earthquakes or tsunamis or diseases or crop failures. The sun always shines, the taxes are low, and nobody dies young.

“Kita-san, who are these guests?” A tall black haired man says. “Newcomers?” The fox nods. “Come with me, then. First order of business, a bath and new clothes for all of you. Then the shogun will see you.”

“Go with him,” Kita says. “That’s Omimi Ren.”

 

The kimono are made of fine linen, much softer than what the village could afford. The shogun and their companion are already waiting and drinking tea when the twins arrive.

“Sit down,” says Shogun Oomi, a man with black hair and a wide smile. “Your friend has explained everything already.”

The tatami mats are all over the house, rare because it’s expensive to make them. “Our weavers are very skilled,” he explains.

Two tiny netsuke foxes wait on the table. One is already dangling from her obi. The shogun pushes them toward the boys. “For you.” He looks at another doorway. “Kita-san, more tea, if you would.”

A boy with light hair that darkens to black brings in a black lacquered tray with three steaming cups on it. “Kita?” Osamu says.

He smiles. “Indeed. I’m not always a fox, you know.”

They settle in quickly. The shogun had assigned the boys to work in various areas - blacksmithing, farming and others - and the girl to the shrines with Kita. They settle into a comfortable rhythm, days slipping by in a blur.

“How long have we been here?” Osamu asks one day.

Atsumu stands up and stretches, setting his basket of  _ tororo  _ yams. “A while,” He says.

“No, ‘Tsumu, I meant how many days.”

He shrugs. “Dunno.”

They go back to work after that, but the conversation hovers in the back of both their minds. They try asking Kita, but he ignores them. They can’t find their friend. Omimi is always busy.

They ask the shogun a few weeks or so later. He sets down his chopsticks. “Atsumu. Osamu. You must know by now that time passes differently here.”

They nod. 

“He rubs his forehead. “I have no way to be sure. If you would really want to know, you need to leave here and see. But,” he warns, seeing the look they share. “If you leave, you might not be able come back.”

“I’m not going to stop you from going,” he says. “But there’s no way to prepare you. It could be a thousand years or less than a day.”

They don’t talk much after that. Even when laying out the futons that night, it’s quiet. When the moon rises, high and glowing in the sky, a shuffling outside makes them rise.

“What are you doing here?” An old man with a crooked back and fishing pole is being helped along by their fellow runaway. “Who’s that guy?”

“My, my,” the man smiles. “Is that the way you treat your benefactor?”

“We don’t have a benefactor,” Atsumu says. 

The old man’s eyes gleam. “Guess who I am.”

He’s old and wrinkled and has a bad back. He’s wearing old clothes that smell of fish and dried sea. The fishing pole is flimsy and has been repaired several times, the same with his hat. Yet even so, he has a gravity that no human has, too much intelligence and wit and power and vitality crammed into a fragile mortal vessel, a cup trying to stop the rushing flow of a waterfall. His eyes dance, sparkle, far too bright, too intelligent, too mischievous, too  _ alive _ for an old, old, man. 

“You’re a god.” This isn’t a question, isn’t said with surprise or  shock but rather a calm statement of fact that lifts a weight off the air. He’s pleased.

“I am indeed, my followers.”

“We’re not your followers.” Atsumu growls. He takes a step forward and grabs his collar. “Where were you? You abandoned us and didn’t answer any questions or grant any requests or anything. You left us at the mercy of strangers in that godforsaken mudpit when they judged and bullied and isolated us. You’re not worthy of calling us - any of us - your ‘followers’.”

The god’s eyes darken and he lets out a hearty belly laugh with no happiness. “I was there.” He effortlessly moves the boy’s hand off himself. 

“I was there. When you were alone in the forest as infants, I was the one who kept you warm and scared the  _ oni _ off. I led the widow to you. I was keeping watch over you when the ordinary children teased - did you notice when they threw rocks or sticks, they never hit you? I was there when you were exploring in the forest, I guided you. I kept your feet steady and the monsters away. I was the one who restored the rice crop, I gave your village an abundance the year before so none would starve. Who was the peddler who sold you the straw hats that you wore to cover your ears? How did they last all those years with no moth-eaten holes? It was me. I was there when you rushed to the shrine. I was the one who kept you adoptive mother safe, when the villagers came, angry. I was the one who led Kita to you, who brightened the sun so you could find the shogun. Who gave him those netsuke? I did, and made them by my own hand to keep you safe. You, boy, are the one with no right to call me negligent. I was there. Even when you couldn’t see me, I was there. I was the wind in the sky, the carpet of fallen leaves beneath your feet, the unseen force that makes the sun rise each day. I am the unveiling of the night, the turning of seasons, the unseen budding of new leaves. Foolish, impudent child.” His eyes are disdainful and condescending. “The gods were not indifferent to your plight. They had never forgotten you.”

Properly chastised, Atsumu hands his head, scowling. Osamu speaks up.

“What will happen to us now?”

The man raises his palms to the sky. “You will live, and you will die. You will be reborn into the world anew, just like anyone else. What happens now, and what will happen until then, I have no control over. The gods may be eternal, but there are some things that are impossible for us to see.”

“Will we still have your blessing next time?” The girl lets go of his arm and wipes her sweaty hands on her robe.

“Who knows?” His lips curve into a thin mischievous smile. “But sometimes, even the gods remember.”

And with that, he vanishes in a swirl of wind, like stars when rose-robed Dawn ascends her throne of gold.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote the ending.

_ But sometimes, even the gods remember. _

 

Time is a human concept, it does not exist without a definition. The gods have no use for such a thing, they can feel it slipping away but do not care for the details humans do. Living forever dulls them to the sacredness of life, the precious moments that define each mortal being. 

It ebbs and flows steadily, working, eroding, and reforming the world. 

Truly, how amazing they are. Their days are numbered, death is a constant, an inescapable pit at the end of the road of life. And yet how happy they seem, how oblivious to the end. They waste their time on love, war, throwing their years away for something they value, hoping they can stave off its inevitable downfall. Foolish, every immortal agrees. But behind closed doors, they secretly envy them for having such a potent time.

Thus is the fate of a god: to wallow away, endlessly, watching the world move on and forget. Science replaces them, strips Tsuki-Yomi of his pale nightly mysteries, robs Amaterasu of her firey glory. Nothing remains of the ancient ones but shadows.

Perhaps that is why they seem out humans that hold a bit more of the old in them.

The way if Shinto is the ride and fall of nature - it's decline in fall and revival in spring. Souls are whisked away to the Otherworlds, watching their descendants from afar. Izanami, the one who gave death to them, rules.

Hatsumode is one day of the year they may wait at their shrines, watching the crowd. A trio shows at the Matsuo Inari shrine. They are ordinary, two boys and a girl. They purify themselves with the water, toss coins, ring the bell, bow, clap and bow again. There is nothing unusual or suspicious about this, but the god lingers in the sei-chuu to hear their conversation.

"We should draw Omikuji now," one of the boys says. They agree and turn to find the both. The girl stops, almost touching him, and frowns.

"Does this feel almost familiar to you?" She says.

"Well, duh, we came here last year, didn' we?" The other boy says. He fishes a hundred yen coin out and drops it in the opening.

It's his shrine, so it's easy to reach inside and pull out the stick he wants. The boy looks at it, then opens the corresponding drawer.

"Blessing."

"I got blessing too," his brother says. 

"Great blessing." The girl looks at him, really looks, and smiles. They can all see him now - he looks like a man selling good luck charms.

He presses something in her hand and mutters something soft, she can't hear. The crowd swallows him. She looks at her hand, three tiny but intricately detailed netsuke are there.

In the shape of foxes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Is anyone interested in a second part? I might consider it if someone wants, so leave a comment if you are!!


End file.
